Perhaps the father was accustomed to the whims of his child, for he did not appear surprised at the proviso, but immediately went to the next room to inquire.  In a moment the communicating door was opened and the doctor invited to enter.

He found his patient very much excited—­pulse high and cheeks flushed.  She did not wait for Mr. Lafitte to present him, but commenced pettishly, “It would have been much better to stay when you were here, instead of keeping me waiting so long.  It is of no use to resist.  Oh what shall I do?”

“Your dress must be removed,” said Dr. Grey briefly.

“I cannot put my arm back:  I can’t breathe.  Do you think there could be something broken in my lungs?”

“Not likely:  do not talk so much.  Some of the ladies in the house must have valerian:  I will beg a little for you.  In the mean time your maid can rip your dress on the shoulder and round the sleeve:  it will then come off without trouble.”

“He is a fine doctor,” said Jane as she quickly obeyed the directions.  “One of them quacks would have cut this good dress to pieces, and never thought but it grew on a person without a seam.  If he can save a dress, he is safe to know how to save a life.”

“We will not call it saving a life,” replied Maurice entering.  “Take this and lie still while I prepare the bandages:  it will soon be over.”

“You did hurt me fearfully,” murmured Fay reproachfully when at last the bone had been set.

“Not fearfully,” he smiled.  “Now sleep and forget it.”

“Unless a doctor kills some one outright, he thinks it no operation at all,” she exclaimed with sudden change of mood.  “Now, please don’t neglect me, but come often—­twice a day until I am better.”

On leaving Miss Lafitte the young man went to his cousin and told her how he had become acquainted with the beauty.

“Well?”

“She is but a spoilt child, Clare.”

“Infatuated,” exclaimed the lady.

“Jealous,” returned the gentleman.

The young doctor, though he had frequent opportunities of being with his fair patient, soon chafed at a relation which, while it permitted him to see her, prevented him from taking advantage of his intimacy.  The confidence with which she now treated him was an additional grievance:  she was too friendly.  Her position toward the outside world had also changed.  Three, four, five weeks passed by, and had any one gathered the opinions of the crowd who surrounded Miss Lafitte, he would have heard but praise.  Perhaps her capricious nature was tired of seclusion, for at present she had smiles for all.  Piquant, original and clever, her popularity became as great as it was sudden, while she was only invalid enough to enlist sympathy or exact attention.  But in one particular the girl had never varied—­that of her rooted dislike to Mrs. Felton.

One morning when Maurice was paying a professional visit, which afforded his only chance of seeing her alone, he curiously asked, “Miss Lafitte, what is the cause of your aversion to my cousin?”